Unbetaed
Softly landing on the paved road of the quaint neighbourhood, the man's pair of oxford shoes shimmers and wiggles, turning into a completely mundane pair of white sneakers. The rest of his clothing follows, his dark-as-night slacks and robe twisting and shrinking into what seems like a school uniform.
His chiselled features smooth down to something softer, younger, and in the span of a second the man becomes a young man.
It's pouring quite heavily, the sheer volume of water being enough to obscure the vision of anyone under its pelting shower. And thus, Harry's midday arrival and subsequent transformation proceeds without a witness- save for a few frogs croaking happily by the puddles.
He lets his feet carry him, taking in the pleasant smell of petrichor and the refreshing cold of spring rain soaking his clothes.
On an intersection, he whimsically eenie-meenies his choice, and turns left. Oddly enough, the sound of bones crunching and bodies hitting the ground reaches his ears, and Harry slowly peeked into a small alley.
Under the canopy of a closed store, a teenager stands. Around him is a circle of considerably older students, all of them moaning in pain on the muddied ground.
It is a bizarre sight, and one that wouldn't leave Harry's mind anytime soon. But first and foremost he's worried for the guy. He seems fine and uninjured, but Harry- who couldn't quite forget his own childhood yet- knows how it feels to be trapped against many, to be chased down and surrounded. The teen is stronger than Harry was, he could tell, from his relaxed posture- it is as if he haven't just taken down seven teenagers bigger than him, but the question leaves his mouth nonetheless. "Are you alright?"
The teen's head turns so swiftly to his direction that Harry thinks he'd get a whiplash. Those steel-grey eyes sharpens, and Harry almost shivers from the intensity.
A beat passes with Harry growing increasingly apprehensive by the millisecond, until the teen turns to him fully and says, "You're not from around here." A flash of silver- Harry swivels to the side by pure instinct, and finds himself narrowly avoiding a lightning-fast tonfa aimed dead at his head. He could even feel the wind grazing his cheek.
"I just arrived here today," Harry replies in Japanese, feeling somewhat lost.
The teen's eyes glint with something Harry does not know the name of, and Harry has to duck from a second hit, the violent teenager (what do these people eat everyday?!) suddenly up close, his second tonfa hitting air as Harry rolls against his side, catching a tonfa as his opponent turns, and then disarms the teen's right hand with a sharp kick, sending the weapon flying.
That does not deter the teen in the least. If anything, he seems to move faster, Harry struggling to dodge his blows as time progresses. His magic thrums under his skin, eager for his call. It was a rare sensation- it is almost as if he is holding his phoenix wand, the trusty piece of wood awaiting his command. Except Harry hasn't used wands for decades, and it's warm. Too warm. He is soaked in rainwater, why-
A thunderous crack right next to his ear startles Harry, and his stuttering heart almost stopped as he sees a tonfa lodged deep into the wall right next to his head. His opponent crowds him against the wall, hands on either side of his head and eyes narrowed, observing him closely.
It's a strange position to take, but the teen doesn't seem like he would beat the life out of him anymore. Harry's glad for the respite. He'd rather not have a deadly workout while being severely handicapped, thank you. For some unknown reason he feels too warm, almost feverish, and the (currently) taller teen is doing something that has his magic in a tizzy.
Letting his magic out is a no-go. If it turns out there's some eldritch god in this universe, Harry would be toast. That is unless there is a magical community somewhere. Then he might be able to hide the proverbial tree in the proverbial forest, but until then...
He sighs, for the utter absurdity of the situation. "I shouldn't have been worried about you. You're the one beating them up."
The pile of bodies are silent, and if not for the small movement of their chests Harry would've thought them dead.
"The herbivores were crowding."
Herbivores? Crowding?
His face must have betrayed the quadruple question marks, because the teen looming over him tsked. "They move in herds, thinking the number would help."
Harry puts away the wildlife terminology to be looked at later, but delinquents? School gang? What are they called, again? If it was a school gang fight, that does not explain why this… this student attacked Harry, nor does it explain his terrifying combat instinct. Make no mistake, Harry's not worried for his life, but kid was almost on par with warriors of some other universes.
The neighbourhood seems pretty normal, but if there is someone as young as the teen before him- who is eyeing him with that strange look again- who has that level of fighting prowess, with no visible signs of a war happening in the immediate vicinity, no horrible gladiator culture yadda yadda, not even a jungle for the law of the jungle to be in effect, well, there has to be something terribly off somewhere.
"You're a transfer student," the teen murmurs, looking thoughtful. He hasn't put away the tonfa, but Harry considers it an improvement that it's lowered. "Nami High, Carnivore?"
"Uh, no, I'm just passing by," Harry answers honestly. The robe was Death's thing, and one of the few items that could survive the dimension jump. It changes shape like a damn sentient fabric- it's probably telling him to enrol, if it's choosing to look like a uniform. Huh…
The teen raises an eyebrow. His fingers trail down to the topmost button of Harry's uniform jacket. Harry squints- there is an emblem on that button. Cripes. "This is Nami High's gakuran."
…
::::::::
The Carnivore is shivering, and from the scant distance Kyoya could feel the unnatural warmth he exudes. A fever. Kyoya has no idea why he's out in the rain, soaked to the bones and walking around like it's sunny.
The Carnivore was a walking contradiction wrapped up in pale skin and too green eyes, a foreigner in a familiar attire. He looks at his surroundings with abject apathy, yet he asks after Kyoya's wellbeing. He narrowly dodges fatal hits, yet only looks panicked when Kyoya asks him about his attire.
There is something magnetic about the Carnivore, yet Kyoya could feel the thick wall separating them, the other forever out of his reach… the unexplainable pull is faint, but it is there.
Kyoya is well aware that the Carnivore was holding back on him. It should offend the prefect, but he finds himself not minding as much. The Carnivore is likely a long-range fighter, from the way he reflexively moves away and distances himself, but for some reason he's missing a weapon.
There is also the fact that the Carnivore is unbothered by their closeness, even leaning into him a little. It's sweet. Neither of them are pushovers, and such display of vulnerability are unheard of outside of close family relation. Even his uncle doesn't do that to his father. The way he tilts his head ever so slightly, resting it lightly against Kyoya's arm… his neck bared, the pale column tempting the prefect to just bite.
The Carnivore is either so strong he does not care at all, or somehow he likes Kyoya enough from the whole ten minutes they spent trading blows.
Or he's too weak from the fever that his guard is down.
Kyoya does not like the third option. The Carnivore looks lucid enough, and is currently frowning at nothing in particular. Finally he says something, and his voice is still clear, not slurred- and Kyoya feels oddly relieved. "This uniform is my friend's. Don't worry, I'll change once I get to where I'm staying. Don't want to walk around looking like a student…"
…He's not a student?
"How old are you, Carnivore?"
"…28?"
"Try again."
"I'm sure I've passed at least my 25th a while ago…"
If this was an herbivore, he would've bitten them to death. But the stranger looks genuinely confused- and Kyoya figures that the fever must've affected his higher brain function.
There is no way the Carnivore is older than seventeen.
A/N: Aand cut. FYI Harry's way older than 28, he just thinks he might look around that age. He hasn't seen a mirror lol
Harry also has no idea that his brand of carelessness attracts people like Kyoya. He should've run for the hills… but he's way too oblivious and that is a safety net on its own I guess.